


And the Loathly Lady

by RobberBaroness



Category: Arthurian Mythology, King Arthur (2004)
Genre: F/M, Marriage of Convenience, Past Abuse, about as historically accurate as the movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-28 23:28:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20434247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobberBaroness/pseuds/RobberBaroness
Summary: The beautiful Sarmatian man and the scarred Saxon girl made an odd pair.





	And the Loathly Lady

He said he’d marry a beautiful Sarmatian girl. Well, you can’t have everything you wish for.

***

Not that what Gawain had seen of love among his friends had really given him a good impression of the matter. He’d watched as Tristan had an affair with a prominent politician’s wife that resulted in the murder of multiple witnesses who had attempted blackmail or simply been unlucky enough to witness an assignation. (His lover poisoned her fair share of the victims herself- perhaps she and Tristan really were made for each other.) Arthur and Guinevere did seem as if they liked each other, but at least at first, Gawain had been convinced both were trying to pull a political con on the other. (He might have been right, he still thought.) Lancelot would sleep with any woman so long as she was married and could have no way to call upon him for responsibility. Whatever was between Bors and Vanora that kept them coming back together, he would never understand. And as for Galahad...well, things had almost happened. They could have been good things. But Galahad was more devoted to his gods than he could ever be to any man, and it could not have ever ended well.

So perhaps he should not have been surprised when his Saxon informant demanded that he marry her in exchange for troop plans.

“It was my stepmother. She did this to me.” The girl was referring to her face, scarred by knives and what looked like the leavings of coal from a fire. “I cannot stay with my people, not with her. Take me away from here, marry me, and I will tell you everything you need to know. I have no loyalty to these people who have made my life a misery. Just take me with you.”

There were any number of things Gawain could have done in response to the scarred girl’s demands. He could have promised her anything, then abandoned or even killed her instead of taking her back to camp. But he prided himself on being an honorable man, and there was something in the girl’s bravery he admired, and he found himself saying yes without entirely knowing why.

“My name is Ragnelle,” she said when he lifted her onto his horse. It didn’t sound like a Saxon name, but what did he know?

***

“I do not ask that you be faithful to me. I only ask that you do not hide me away. My family hid me away, though they did not stop my stepmother from cutting me.” Gawain felt guilty for having already thought of doing just such a thing, but he grunted in assent.

“Will you like being a soldier’s wife any more than a camp follower, or a soldier’s daughter, or whatever you were?” he asked. “We’re not known for our gentility, not even those among us with fine Roman education.”

“Anything would be better. And you...you are handsome.” Gawain smiled at that. The girl had good taste, at the very least.

“We’re all handsome, those of us from Sarmatia,” he told her. “You should have seen Tristan. I have four brothers back home, and even when I left, Agravain was threatening to grow vain about his long hair.” He paused in thought. “I may never see any of my brothers again. It’s odd how little I’ve come to think of them.”

“The army does that to you,” Ragnelle said. “They take you away from your home and become your new family, all so you can never think of leaving them. They are your family now.”

“It sounds as if the army has been better to me than your family to you.”

“There, I cannot disagree.”

But Gawain’s thoughts had been turned to his family of old. How did his mother fare? Had little Gareth remained small and kind, Agravain proud and angry, Gaheris quiet and shy? Had Mordred survived infancy? Would he ever go home to see them?

Arthur’s makeshift kingdom was his home now, though. Perhaps he should bring them there.

***

The look on Gawain’s face had cut off any potential jeering when they returned to camp.

“This is my lady, Ragnelle. She rides well, speaks Latin and has just saved us from a counter-attack, and I expect you all to be very grateful to her.” Arthur cocked an eyebrow at him and Guinevere looked baffled, but at least Bors’ expression didn’t change; he was hardly one to comment on another’s looks.

“Tell Merlin to marry us as soon as possible,” he went on. “Guinevere, do you have a dress she could borrow?”

“I- I suppose…” she trailed off. “I do not usually pack fine Roman gowns on trips into battle.”

“Well, find her something. You’re about the same size.” Anyone else would have hesitated speaking to Arthur’s wife so brusquely- not just Arthur’s wife, Guinevere, the mad battle queen- but Gawain typically got away with such things. Everyone knew he meant no offense- if he did mean offense, he would let his victim know.

“I’ll find my father,” Guinevere said, though the look on her face told him she’d be asking plenty of questions later.

***

At night, Ragnelle’s eyes glimmered in the fading firelight in a way that made Gawain smile. She turned away, as if afraid he was laughing at her.

“I cannot understand you at all” Gawain told his new wife. “You want me, then you don’t want me. I’ll never know what any woman wants, I swear by the gods.”

“We want freedom,” said Ragnelle. “Control over our own lives, just as you wish for. And I’ve taken it away from you. I’m- I’m sorry. I know you must have wanted to marry a beautiful woman.”

Gawain shrugged.

“You’ve given me more today than any other woman could have, no matter how beautiful.”

“But what if I was? Which would you prefer? Would you want my beauty for yourself alone, or to show off to your friends?”

“Would it matter what I want? What would you want?”

Perhaps it was the glimmer of the firelight in her eyes, perhaps it was the moonlight on her hair, perhaps it was the shy smile on her red lips. Whatever the cause, Gawain leaned in and kissed her.

In that moment, she was beautiful. On that night, he fell in love.


End file.
